


Ceremonials

by HeyJude19



Series: Spectrum [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, blueberry scones, part of a series, remain nameless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29432991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyJude19/pseuds/HeyJude19
Summary: One-shots, outtakes, and short stories from the Remain Nameless universe.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Padma Patil/Ron Weasley
Series: Spectrum [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162049
Comments: 136
Kudos: 374





	1. In the Smallest of Gestures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first in a collection of stories from ["Remain Nameless."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875939/chapters/57393508)  
> If you haven't already read that one, this collection will definitely spoil some plot points. 
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day! Here are three outtakes to celebrate today:  
> Scene 1 takes place between chapters 13 and 14.  
> Scene 2 takes place just after James is born in chapter 43.  
> Scene 3 takes place between chapters 47 and 48.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**In the Smallest of Gestures**

_Thursday, February 14, 2008_

Gods this was always the weirdest fucking day. 

The café hadn’t even stocked the pastry case with proper items (not a blueberry scone in sight) but instead offered a smattering of pink or red-iced monstrosities, hoping to appeal to the more insipid tendencies of the type of simpletons that put any sort of stock in February 14th being some kind of auspicious occasion.

Draco ordered his standard black coffee and then waited for Granger at their table. He wondered what she thought of this supposed “holiday.” Maybe he could draw her into a heated argument; suggest that women used this day to trap their beaus into extravagant and insincere displays of affection purely to satisfy the societal expectations that surrounded this made-up holiday. 

Fuck, she was gorgeous when she got worked up. All flushed cheeks and flashing eyes and that pretty little mouth moving a mile a minute…

_I am in control of this._

Draco pulled out a scouting report, hoping the banal black and white statistics and numbers would dull his senses before she showed this morning.

His thoughts wandered instead to the ballet next weekend. Did she still want to attend with him? How would Granger look all dressed up for him? 

No, not _for_ him. Not specifically, anyway. She’d just want to look nice, probably. 

The scouting reports weren’t doing their job. He cast his eyes around the café. There was a couple at the next table over holding hands. 

She’d gripped his hand. When she’d thanked him for helping her through her panic attack. 

He’d gripped her legs. He’d been helping her ground herself at the time, sure, but the fact remained. 

“Good morning,” her voice broke through his ruminations on the feel of her thighs beneath his hands. 

“Granger.”

She’d gotten a few nights’ good sleep it seemed, since her recent breakdown. Brighter eyes, rosier cheeks, neater hair. 

He wondered how she’d coped on her own. 

She took off her coat to reveal her sartorial choice of a red sweater today. Red was a loud color. Granger generally stayed within neutrals and pastels for work. She didn’t need to draw attention to herself with glaring colors like red, no, Granger’s personality was bold enough on its own for the world to notice her. That, and her hair.

As she received her tea at the counter, Draco saw the owner hand her a paper bag. He wondered which of those overly-decorated, unnecessary treats she’d bought for herself.

“Feeling festive today, are we?” he gestured a hand at her top as she returned. 

She looked down and shrugged. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Her declaration conjured a thought of some nameless prick with a smug face escorting Granger to a candlelit dinner and it sent a shock of unwarranted envy through his body. Would that be her preferred way to spend this particular evening? Did she already have some gentleman suitor lined up for tonight?

“And are you… celebrating?”

“Of course not!”

_Good._

_I am in control of this._

But apparently not celebrating this stupid day was a source of embarrassment for Granger and required her to perform a rambling elaboration. 

“I mean, not that you can’t celebrate this day alone. There’s nothing wrong with that, being alone, that is, and it’s all rather contrived and nonsensical when you think about it. Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to just be about romantic love with a partner, self-love is healthy too.”

She clamped her mouth shut and Draco added a mental image of Granger practicing self-love into his brain. His traitorous mind flashed vision after vision of her hands skimming down her bare body and accompanying breathy whimpers as she gave into her own pleasure and—

And this thought path should not be traversed in public. Especially in a fitted suit. 

_I am in control of this._

“So the red sweater was just a coincidence?” He asked, rescuing them both from her accidental innuendo.

“Well… it’s just a silly Ministry thing—you know, for morale—a little midday mixer in the department. Everyone was encouraged to wear red and I thought it’d be good to participate in that sort of thing. It promotes goodwill amongst colleagues.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of the merits of this informal gathering.”

She chuckled in agreement. “Truthfully it is rather superfluous, but like I said, it’s just a day.”

“Right.”

He should ask her out now. But that would be a date. Probably. He wanted it to be one, at any rate.

The ballet next week was very much not a date. An engagement previously agreed upon. As friends. And asking a witch out on Valentine’s Day came with such oddly weighty expectations that he wasn’t sure he could handle them. 

The morning continued on as platonically as it always did, all the way up to their parting point by the Leaky Cauldron.

Then, Granger decided on kindness as her weapon of choice for the day. From her stockpile of thoughtfulness, she could always expertly wield the precise tool for his internal destruction by means of her benevolence.

“Here,” she said and thrust a paper bag into his hand.

“Er, what’s this?”

“A scone. Blueberry.”

He stared down at the bag in his hand containing his favorite treat. A little gift that had required such sweet forethought on her part because apparently she’d anticipated his huffiness this morning and sought to remedy his mood. That this witch could know him so well, that she cared enough to attempt to turn his day around, left his mouth embarrassingly devoid of words. 

She’d caught him flat-footed, rendered him empty-headed, and ensured he’d spend at least a few precious minutes considering himself the world’s luckiest sod to have received this sort of attention from her. And on today of all days, when small gestures seemed to carry a hefty meaning.

The last heir of the Malfoy line: terminated by a charming brunette and her regard for his well-being. 

“Right, thanks Granger.”

His solemn gratitude earned him a beautiful blush and an endearing ramble. 

“It’s nothing, I had one set aside for you because I know on holidays they like to have themed treats and so I just mentioned on my way out yesterday that if they had any left over that I know someone who’d be quite interested. Probably could do with a Warming Charm, then it should taste all right.”

He couldn’t resist a smirk. “I’d say I’d repay the scone favor someday, but I think we both know that’s not happening.”

“Prat.” 

Later in his office, he did heat up the scone with a burst of magic, and while it tasted heavenly, Granger’s parting smile had already sufficiently warmed him enough. 

_I am in control of this._

* * *

_Saturday, February 14, 2009_

He’d made reservations at three different restaurants. Two in Muggle London and one in Diagon. Just in case. Pragmatic per usual.

Because he’d asked her so many fucking times about what she wanted to do on this specific day. 

“Oh we can just… be together. Like any other day.”

Not helpful, Granger. He cancelled the reservations. 

A week ago Draco had noticed the little gift bag at the bottom of her closet. Specifically, the name of the boutique printed on the bag. As if she couldn’t decide if this had been a sensible purchase and so instead of putting it away with her other lingerie, she’d shoved it mostly out of sight until she figured out whether or not to debut it. 

Which meant she’d put in an effort, but didn’t want Draco to know she’d put in an effort in case he wasn’t comfortable reciprocating. 

So how the fuck should he reciprocate? Chocolates were just… ordinary and Draco did not waste his time on ordinary. Besides, he’d probably eat them all anyway. Flowers were a given, he’d not let her push back on that. But he needed something beyond all the little tokens he sent to her office several times a week. He knew jewelry would exasperate her, despite the temptation to stroll to Gringotts and liberate some stunning pieces from his family vaults. 

_I am okay with this._

He’d even Floo’ed Theo in a panic but the arsehole laughed in his face and said, “First Valentine’s Day eh?” Draco, good friend that he was, let Theo rib him a bit before threatening to hex him, and then received some unhelpful advice. 

“You’ll come to find out that it’s not a big deal, mate. It doesn’t have to be this over-the-top thing. Just tell her you love and appreciate her and share a nice meal. I really can’t give you better advice than that.”

Useless. Absolutely useless.

And not only was this glorious day of romance on a weekend, it was on a weekend with a guarantee of absolutely no one bothering them. Potter and Ginevra were busy with their brand new mini-Potter. All her other friends were coupled off and so wouldn’t be requesting their time. 

Draco decided to recreate their first night in his home. Only this time without the arguments over house-elves and screamed confessions of love. 

Then Granger had to go and ruin it anyway. 

Her head appeared in his fireplace, hair more untamed than usual, nose puffy, and eyes glazed.

“I’m so sorry I—” she ducked away to blow her nose. “I don’t think I should see you tonight.” She disappeared again and he heard more sniffling. “I’m definitely coming down with something.”

“I could come to you instead?”

“No, I’ll just get you sick.”

Draco would not let something as trifling as a head cold keep him from seeing her today. Or any day. 

“I’m coming over Granger.”

He immediately regretted this decision. He had no idea how to care for a sick person outside of interrogating his girlfriend on her current physical state.

“I’ve already taken my temperature,” she grumbled when Draco insisted on using the charm instead of her Muggle thermometer. 

“Did you take Pepper-Up?”

“Of course,” she insisted. “I’m fine, really, it’s just a cold. You didn’t have to come. I’m just going to curl up on the couch and read.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I don’t really have an appetite. I can’t taste anything anyway.”

She dropped onto the couch and pulled one of her hideous knitted blankets over her pajama-clad frame. Draco frowned down at her. “You should eat something.”

“Probably,” she said and blew her nose again. “I just don’t have the energy.”

She looked beyond pathetic with her little setup of tea and pile of tissues, sinking into the cushions. Draco stood frozen, unsure of his role here. 

Crookshanks sat in an armchair cleaning one of his paws. He stopped his ritual to stare at Draco.

_Your move, sir. I’ve not got opposable thumbs._

Their first Valentine’s Day and he couldn’t even romance her. Typical.

“Soup?” he blurted in her general direction.

“Sorry?”

“Soup. I could… bring you some? If that would help?”

“Yes, but where would—”

“I ordered from the French place you like,” he cut in. “It was meant to be a surprise.”

His admission earned him a radiant smile. With a quick round of apparition, he returned to her sickly side on the couch with tomato soup and warm baguette for her and mussels in white wine for himself. Hardly the grand dinner over candlelight in his stately dining room surrounded by too many bouquets of flowers to count, but Draco thought he might secretly prefer this quiet intimacy instead. 

With her flush against his side and hunched over a coffee table to eat, Draco’s fears about this particular day needing to amount to anything beyond this level of contentment dissolved into nothing. 

Granger seemed to perk up with some food, and once they’d finished their meal, sank against him with a happy sigh. Draco shifted so she could lay along the length of the couch with her head in his lap. 

His hand fell to her hair and completed the instinctual act of worship that manifested as running fingers through her soft curls. 

Since he’d done a stellar job of providing his disease-ridden girlfriend with food and comfort, Draco felt he earned a bit of needling.

“About that little something in the frilly bag in your closet. What color is it?”

She stiffened. “You didn’t peek?”

“Of course not, thought I’d let you surprise me.”

“Gold. Satin.”

His favorite color, of course. 

“Corset or nightie?”

“Corset.”

“Thigh-highs?”

“Mmhmm.”

_“Fuck."_

“Sorry, I’ll make it up to you when I’m better.”

“Just rest, love. You’re going to need it for all the wicked things I had planned.”

“Prat.”

“I think you love me.”

“Not sure where you got that idea from,” she teased. “But yes, I do happen to love you.”

Draco didn’t think he could love her any more than in the moments and hours that soon followed: Hermione snoring loudly through her congested nose all over one of his best suits in her horrible pajamas. 

* * *

_Sunday, February 14, 2010_

Hermione woke to wandering hands along her ribcage and heated kisses along her throat. 

A sumptuous breakfast spread already awaited them; laid out at the far end of Draco’s chambers, as he’d requested from his elves the previous evening. He’d suggested a quiet day in his home, apparently intent on spoiling her and distracting her from any responsibilities. 

His kisses increased in insistency. Demanding her attention: one of Draco’s favorite hobbies. She gave in and arched into his mouth and palms. 

“I know I said I’d let you have a lie-in, but you look too fucking good like this in my bed,” he murmured against her ear. 

She chuckled and shifted in his arms to reward his compliment with a kiss. “Naked, you mean?”

“Hmm, yes, that,” Draco agreed. “I figured we could spend the day in bed.” He bolstered his argument with a deft sweep of his tongue past her lips. Too persuasive, this man and his snogging skills. 

Though tempted to acquiesce to his suggestion, Hermione’s brain couldn’t ignore the running list of all the wedding details yet to be determined. “But we’ve got to plan so many things for the wedding and—”

“We’ve only been engaged a month—”

“A month and a half—”

“And we have plenty of time.”

“Yes but—!”

“Fine. Let’s plan the honeymoon. I want to discuss all the different places I can fuck you.” He pleaded his case by way of moving his mouth down to her breasts. 

“Draco—”

“Paris again?” he suggested against her chest. “We did quite the number on all those various pieces of furniture but I think the private lift went tragically underused.”

“Draco—”

“Fine, a private beach in Australia. I’ve always wanted to shag you in the ocean.”

“Draco—"

“Better yet, a yacht in the Mediterranean so we’re technically in the ocean but not at risk of drowning.”

“Italy!” Hermione interjected with a laugh. He rested his head on her sternum and met her eyes. 

“Italy?” Draco echoed and then thought it over. “I know of a few vineyards or we could book a private palazzo. Or both?”

“Just as long as we make time for Venice.”

“Venice? But you’ve already been there, as have I.”

“Yes, but last time I was by myself for my conference, obviously, and I… well I wondered a lot about seeing all those same things… with you.”

She expected his face to color slightly or his eyes to soften as usual whenever she said something so sentimental. Hermione did not foresee Draco’s mouth breaking into a lecherous grin; wicked, and filled with premeditative intent.

“Yes, I always did wonder about that week in Venice. All on your own in that hotel room at night.”

He slid a large hand up her bare thigh. “I remember you said you missed me. To distraction. Just how _exactly_ ,” he squeezed her leg, “did that manifest?”

“Hmm,” she pretended to mull it over. “I suppose I may have indulged in some… self-stimulation in my bed.”

He removed his touch. 

“Show me,” he demanded. Draco rolled off her and propped himself up on his side. 

Hermione stared back at him for a beat, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “You want me to show you… you want to watch me?”

He bit down on his bottom lip and gave her the stare that usually made her legs fall open and whimpers rush past her lips. 

“Please, love? I’ve always wanted to watch you do this.”

Draco remained on his side, head in his hand as he gazed down at her. Hermione took a steadying breath and began at her collarbone and the tops of her breasts. Light touches of fingertips along her skin, letting go of any self-consciousness and focusing on the thrill of being on display for him. 

She felt him grow hard against the side of her thigh as she moved her hands further down her body. 

His fingers grazed along the skin of her arm. “You’re doing so well, love,” he murmured and planted lingering kisses on her shoulder. 

Her own touch reached the apex of her thighs, and she both heard and felt Draco’s breath hitch as she gently circled her clit a few times before taking in two fingers. 

“Just imagine it’s me doing this to you.”

“It could be you,” Hermione countered.

“Mmm and maybe if you continue being a good girl it will be me very soon.”

She huffed in mild frustration and earned a deep, throaty chuckle. He rolled his hips against her, matching the pace of her own hand’s movements. 

“Could you… I want to watch you, too.”

Their new shared experience didn’t last long. Hermione watched him stroking himself for all of thirty seconds before she came all over her own fingers and cried out for him to please get inside her. She didn’t need to ask twice, as Draco immediately obliged. He brought her off again with harsh thrusts and muttered phrases of reverence and declarations of love just before his own release.

He held her tight afterwards, whispering more words of praise and gratitude for indulging him. Hermione decided that not leaving her fiancé’s arms sounded like the perfect itinerary for Valentine’s Day. 

“I’ll admit, I think you were right about staying in bed today. This is nice, just… us. No planning, no other obligations.” 

“You’re sure? I was only joking earlier.”

Hermione yawned and snuggled closer. “I’m sure.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “Granger… are you aware of how many reservations I now have to cancel?”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I look forward to sharing more of these, and thank you to my beautiful beta/alpha/friend mrsbutlertron. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr: [heyjude19-writing](https://heyjude19-writing.tumblr.com/).


	2. Your Heart Is the Only Place That I Call Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write an AU spinoff of RN? Sure did. I think you'll be able to figure out which kind of AU pretty quickly ;)

The walls of Azkaban prison knew Draco quite well. They’d heard his screams, cries, dreams, and nightmares. They’d felt the beating of his fists, the scratching of his nails, the splash of his tears, the drip of his blood. 

His residence of four years. But now he’d move on to a new, unknown place. 

Potter appeared at his cell door, looking grim. Draco wanted to knock the pity right off his irritating face, but socking Potter in the jaw wouldn’t help him now. It would be a fitting last act though. 

“It’s time.”

Draco said nothing, only nodded. He’d known this day, this hour, was coming. He’d known for four years. Despite the best efforts of Potter, his mother, and several other advocates he hadn’t asked for, Draco would lose his soul today. 

Potter and his naïve optimism thought this day might never come. But when Kingsley Shacklebolt was murdered mere hours after assuming the role of Minister, Gawain Robards took the top job instead, bringing with him a ruthless, bloodthirsty efficiency in dealing with any and all previous associates of the Dark Lord. 

A new hunger for violent justice grew in the void left by the loss of Kingsley's level headedness . The wizarding public demanded punishment and so Kiss sentences became the outcome  _ de rigeur _ at just about every sham of a trial, including Draco’s. His father had escaped this gruesome fate by virtue of an  _ Avada Kedavra _ to the back during his arrest. No one claimed the assassination and the DMLE deemed the investigation “unsolvable.” 

While the Ministry may have banished the Dementors as prison guards, a détente was proposed under the guise of public safety for including the foul creatures in the new world order: executioners of the proliferation of war criminals. All the tainted souls they could want as long as they left the masses alone. 

And it seemed everyone in charge was content to shake Potter’s hand, thank him for his service, then send him on his way. No one was interested in their young hero’s protests of the slippery slope of punitive retribution their society saw itself falling down. Even a post-war government had no time for the self-righteous opinions of Harry Potter.  _ “Thanks for dealing the killing blow, here’s a shiny medal, on your way now, lad.” _

For his post-war contribution, Draco bore the brunt of the punishment for the sins of the Malfoy family. At least Potter had been able to secure Narcissa’s freedom. But for some reason, the Boy-Who-Lived-Again made Draco’s appeals his pet cause and roped a whole lot of other annoying do-gooders to serve as character witnesses (Theo Nott, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall) or legal help (Justin Finch-Fletchley). 

Potter’s role seemed to be Draco’s most frequent visitor and leader of the charge for his sentence reversal. Draco often wondered if Potter slept at all or if the need to right all the world’s wrongs fueled him eternally and he no longer required rest. 

In the beginning of their relationship as champion and charity case respectively, Potter would rant and sputter angrily about how “this isn’t justice, this isn’t what we fought for!” And then Draco would bitterly remind him of how things could be much worse had the Dark Lord prevailed, and then the two of them would sit in sulky silence. 

Potter did have some uses: he’d bring reading material to Draco or a chess board or the amiable company of Theo. Sometimes Draco would inquire about the life paths of former schoolmates. He even once asked about the whereabouts of Granger and Weasley and received quite the intriguing answer. 

“This isn’t Ron’s fight anymore. He’s just… he has a lot to do with his family,” Potter said haltingly. “And Hermione… she actually helped a lot with your first appeal but she’s an Unspeakable now. You know her, lots on her plate.”

“They didn’t ride off into the sunset together and have a dozen children with horrible hair?”

Potter chuckled at that question. “Oh God no! No, they’re just friends now, anyway.”

Four years of harsh stone walls and a tiny barred window. Four years of regrets and thoughts best left in the past. Four years of a weird comradery with The Chosen One himself as he watched appeal after appeal get rejected by the Wizengamot. 

They’d graciously allowed Potter to accompany him to his grisly fate. A guard stood just behind him, but as Draco held no wand and couldn’t exactly escape, the wizard just took him by the arm and held a portkey out. 

They arrived in an austere chamber, and Draco surmised they’d landed in one of the lower courtrooms of the Ministry. 

Potter shook his hand and said something stupidly sentimental, but Draco paid him no mind. He watched his former foe join a small section of onlookers in the gallery: She-Weasel, Lovegood, Theo, Finch-Fletchley, all with solemn, ashen faces of gruesome support; here to watch Draco lose his very essence. 

The court members made up the rest of the seats, save for two women in the front row. 

His mother. She looked regal as ever in black silk robes with her blonde hair neatly pinned back. The epitome of grace and a stiff upper lip. But the brightness of her blue eyes gave her away. Tears broke free as she spotted him and she mouthed, “I love you, my son.”

Andromeda sat at her side; their hands clutched together in Narcissa’s lap. Both already widows. In a matter of moments, both would know the pain of losing a child too. 

The guard tightened the cuffs around his wrists and ankles in the last chair he’d ever sit in. Or at least, the last time he’d have full awareness of sitting in a chair. No one really knew what happened to you post soul-removal. 

Draco looked into his mother’s crying face. The last face he’d ever see. He tried to tell her silently that he could be brave for her today, and knowing she had her sister and would be safe was all he’d ever wanted. 

Some Ministry drone read out Draco’s full name, his charges, and the terms of his sentence. Then they called in the Dementors. Two hooded figures glided into the room, bringing with them that unnatural stillness and suffocating cold. A few Patronus shapes acted as barriers between the crowd and the executioners, but nothing could save Draco now. 

Draco sent his mother one last nod, then shut his eyes.

He felt their horrid effects immediately. 

Excruciating memories danced behind his closed eyelids. Scenes of his own torture, of his mother’s torture, of Granger’s torture, of a giant snake consuming a woman on his dining room table, of Dumbledore’s body arching over the edge of The Astronomy Tower…

He felt the coldness of the Dementor seeping into his bones and knew one of the creatures approached. Its rattling breath drew nearer until it puffed against his face. Two clammy, claw-like hands gripped the sides of his head and tilted it up.

His mouth was forced open as the harbinger of his doom unhinged his jaw, and then performed a rattling inhale as it sought to untether him from everything that it meant to be Draco. 

But the act of soul-consuming met resistance. 

Something bright and hot burst to life inside his chest, battling against the freezing chill. It almost felt like an anchor, a force rooted deep within him and it fought back. A spark of magic flared up like an inferno and would not be put out; a curious sensation along every nerve of his body. Not a burning that would scorch him, but instead this heat seemed to belong to him, to coexist with his magic in his veins, to bolster and protect it. 

Despite being on the brink of extermination, Draco had never felt more alive. 

The combative entity within him gave an almighty push that originated from the core of his own magical abilities and forcibly ejected the Dementor’s tainting presence. 

The Dementor released him with a horrendous shriek and Draco finally opened his eyes. It floated away oddly, with a jerky sort of movement most unnatural for its kind. 

Draco heard the cries of confusion and horror from the surrounding crowd, but then the second Dementor surged forward to complete the task instead. 

He slammed his eyes shut again as the process repeated itself. Except this time, that burning brightness within him no longer lingered dormant, but prepared to thwart its enemy. A poked dragon, ready to defend. 

And Draco knew, even before the second Dementor attempted to steal his soul, that it was no match for this internal, visceral brilliance. His magic whispered sweet, flowing words to him like a mantra:  _ love, protection, faith, strength. _

Once more, a Dementor could not sever Draco from his soul. It shrank away with a piercing cry to join its partner.

Furious at their failing, the Dementors whirled around and advanced on the crowd. Enraged that they’d been denied a promised meal, Draco watched in horror as they went for his mother and aunt. However, the internal battle for his soul had left him weak and shaking, and as Potter and company leapt into action with Patronuses to banish the foul things, Draco passed out. 

* * *

He woke in a windowless holding cell. 

They left him in that cell for three days. Food and water pushed through the bars twice a day and so Draco clocked the passage of time based on the schedule of these paltry meals. Shouting “what’s happening? Why am I being kept here?” at the hand that delivered his food only returned the answer of resolute silence. 

Which left Draco alone with his own maddening questions. Why hadn’t it worked? Why couldn’t those Dementors complete the job? Was his mother all right?

On the third day, the cell door opened to reveal a grinning Potter and Justin Finch-Fletchley. 

“We’re here to take you home,” said Justin. 

“Home?” croaked Draco, sure he must have misheard. 

“Yes. To Malfoy Manor with your mother. You were sentenced to receive the Dementor’s Kiss, and you received it. Twice, technically. The legal punishment was meted out, so they can’t re-try you for your crimes.” 

“But why not just use the Killing Curse on me?”

“Oh, the court certainly considered that path,” muttered Potter darkly. 

“They tried to argue you should receive it instead but like I said, they’d have to re-try you and well, double jeopardy is not a path they can pursue, legally, and here—”

He handed Draco an official-looking parchment and his knees almost gave out.

“Congratulations Malfoy,” announced Justin. “You’re a free man, with a few stipulations.”

The conditions of Draco’s freedom were thus:

A house arrest period of three years. He could not leave his home unless accompanied by an Auror.

No use of a wand during this three-year period.

No contact with any current prisoners of Azkaban.

An international travel ban for an additional five years post-house confinement. 

“You mentioned a stipulation?” said Draco once he found his voice. 

“Keep reading,” urged Justin. “The Dementors weren’t at fault here, they completed a successful Kiss with another prisoner just after you. As you are quite the curious case, it seems the ‘powers at be’ would like some answers about how you evaded the Kiss. You will agree to be studied by the Department of Mysteries until such time as they no longer deem you conducive to their research project.” 

Draco physically recoiled. Imprisonment had been its own form of hell, but he’d at least not suffered any physical or mental torture at the hands of others while awaiting his soul-depleting sentence. But in the bowels of the Ministry, being poked and prodded with wands, being experimented on… Draco had no interest in a life of imagined horrors from the minds of twisted researchers. 

“And if I don’t agree to be a specimen?”

Justin laid out the grim alternative. “Azkaban. For life. No chance of appeal or parole.”

“Malfoy,” Potter broke in quickly. “Take the deal. If you trust me at all, take it, please. I guarantee you won’t regret it.”

Potter, who’d been fighting the Ministry tooth and nail pre-war and beyond, now advocated for Draco to put his trust in this institution. 

“Have either of you got a quill?”

* * *

The reason for Potter’s stupid excitement about Draco’s research agreement revealed itself on the very first morning of his new existence as a Department of Mysteries test subject.

_ Hermione fucking Granger. _

Draco’s Auror escort had shown up in his Manor’s drawing room Floo to deliver him to the hands of some mad Unspeakable who would undoubtedly make Draco regret this decision. 

But when they arrived in a foreboding private laboratory of the labyrinth-like Department of Mysteries, the Auror ushered him inside and left Draco to another surprise. 

Had he not just survived a Dementor’s Kiss, Draco would have called seeing the familiar face of his old classmate the shock of his life.

_ Hermione fucking Granger. _

She looked much the same as when he’d seen her during the early trials a few years ago. Time had been kinder to her untameable hair; still wild as ever, but with a more settled quality to it. She’d pinned half of it back today, keeping much of it off the front of her professional, grey work robes. 

“Hello Malfoy.”

“Granger.”

His greeting came out steady, another surprise to him. 

Granger’s confident, measured stride approached him; head held high and chin set in that determined way of hers. She would set the tone here, Draco was on her turf now. 

“I hope we can have a cordial working relationship during your time here. Can we agree to civility?”

She held out her hand.

“Well, it’s literally this or prison, so,” he drawled and shook her proffered hand. “Start dissecting, I suppose.”

A twitch to her lips and a raised eyebrow. She dropped his hand and shook some of her curls off her shoulder. 

“Your condition, for lack of a better term, is relevant to my studies here in the—"

“What are you studying down here?”

She shot him a quelling glare. Draco wondered when the last time someone dared to interrupt Hermione Granger mid-sentence and if they were still alive.

“Soul magic.” She waited a beat to see if Draco felt like interjecting with questions, but he let her continue. “Given my personal experience with horcruxes and destroying them, the Department was quite keen to approve my research endeavors. Now—”

She grabbed a piece of parchment off the table. 

“Here is our official research agreement. Please read this over carefully and let me know if you object to any of the terms before signing. You can have your solicitor read it first if you like. We don’t have to begin today.”

“I’ll sign, just hand me a quill.”

She frowned back at him. “Malfoy, you shouldn’t sign something like this without reading it through. I’m asking you to participate in my project as a partner, but even so, I will have to perform spells on you, ask you personal questions, and should all go as planned, publish our findings. If you are uncomfortable with any of the terms laid out, I need to know now.”

“I told you, it’s literally this or prison for life, it’s not much of a choice. Give me the quill.”

“No, not until you’ve read it. Anything less than informed consent is completely unethical with human participants in research studies.”

Draco snorted derisively. “Granger, who are you kidding here? The Ministry does not give one single fuck about my consent.”

“Well I’d like your consent.”

Gods, her capacity for compassion really did know no bounds. Her stubborn insistence with this charade of the agreement revealed her true intentions towards Draco: an act of trust. Her earnest brown eyes met his and he detected no mockery, no deceit. 

“I’ll read it now, no need for a solicitor,” he conceded. “I have previous experience with contracts.”

She smiled widely as he settled on a stool at one of the lab tables and read through each line. He signed his name at the bottom and noticed another line for her signature. Granger would sign this upon the conclusion of their time together, whenever that may be, releasing him from his mandated stint with her.

“It was a farce, you know.”

He looked up from the parchment at her soft spoken, yet firm statement.

“What was?”

“Your trial. I sent every legal precedent I found to Justin and honestly, the human rights violations the courts got away with at the end of the war—”

“Granger—”

“—just barbaric, the lot of it—and I don’t care—”

“Granger—”

“—what the bloody DMLE says, I’m conducting my study of you as humanely as possible—”

“Granger—”

“—and they can shove their warnings and condescending comments straight up their pompous, puffed up—”

“I’m sorry!”

She finally shut up. She seemed to have also stopped thinking and breathing too. 

“You’re…? You’re what?”

Fuck. He hadn’t meant for it to happen this way. Honestly, he hadn’t meant for it to happen at all. 

He’d thought he’d be basically brain-dead a week ago and when one is dealt a soul-depriving sentence, one tends to see making amends as a rather pointless endeavor.

But he could make amends now. Draco could take this twisted, undeserved second chance at existence and at least apologize to a person who had not only devoted time to saving his ungrateful backside, but now fretted over getting his consent, with respecting his autonomy… fucking hell the least he could do was finally deliver this long overdue attempt at contrition.

“I said I’m sorry. For how I treated you at school. For the word I used to call you. But mostly… most of all for that night at the Manor. For what my aunt… and I did nothing. I’m sorry.”

“I—”

She took a moment before committing to her next pronouncement. Her brain fired at an abnormally fast rate and Draco saw every single instance of the word “Mudblood” hurled her way, every cruel comment, every curse cast by his aunt’s wand, he saw it all flash by in her calculating stare.

What must she make of him now? A man laid so low, and with absolutely nothing to gain by offering these sentiments now, she must at least recognize he had no motive for uttering a falsehood. 

That, or Potter had asked her to play nice.

“I forgive you.”

Draco nodded once in gratitude at the solemn acceptance, and she sent the parchment flying to be filed away on her desk.

Paperwork complete, Granger adopted her brisk and bossy affect as she summoned blank parchment and a floating quill to record her notes. 

“If you could please describe for me, as precisely as you can, how it felt when the Dementor tried to take your soul.”

* * *

The first week of their time together felt more like a Healer’s visit.

Or perhaps more like a trainee Healer’s visit, the way Granger stood in front of him, blushing and wringing her hands. 

"I'll need you to, umm," she vaguely waved her hand up and down his form. Apparently she expected Draco to understand this new form of sign language and provided no further instruction.

"If you'd like to elaborate some time this century?" he said with a cocked eyebrow.

"Remove your robes please,” she rushed out. “And actually, your suit jacket, waistcoat and tie, please."

"Oh. Ah, all right.”

He complied quickly, pushing any thoughts of discomfort at performing the act of undressing in front of her. Which was frankly ridiculous anyway, since he was still fully clothed in an Oxford and his suit trousers. 

Granger stepped closer, bringing with her an unrecognizable and extremely pleasant floral scent. 

“I need… I need you to undo your top few buttons so I can um, touch you. With my wand, but also my um, hand.”

Draco’s fingers complied immediately even as his nerves mounted. “And this is... strictly necessary?"

She coughed awkwardly. "Yes, I can't have too many layers between us. I mean between me and your skin. I mean,  _ Merlin _ , just... unbutton, please." 

Granger averted her gaze as he finished unbuttoning all the way to his abdomen. 

“Sorry if my hand is cold,” she whispered, stepping right into his personal space. 

Then she touched him. She placed her palm to the middle of his bare chest, right atop some of the whitened scar tissue that bisected his entire front.

Her hand was warm. So was her magic.

Brows furrowed, she murmured unfamiliar incantations as the tip of her wand prodded at his skin and her hand traced along different sections of his chest, perhaps feeling for any effects caused by her spells.

Did breathing normally require this much conscious effort? Could she feel his heart beating wildly in his breast? Could she also feel that strange rattling sensation that seemed to originate from the center of his being?

“All done,” she murmured and dropped her touch. She turned her back so he could return to a state of dress appropriate for a research lab.

“I felt nothing out of the ordinary,” she declared. A statement with which Draco wholeheartedly disagreed.

He noticed a pretty pink flush to her face as she walked away with a muttered statement about needing to review all the data collected. 

Granger insisted on performing every other diagnostic and checking all his health vitals in the following days. She even extracted a vial of his blood. 

Draco told himself his internal unraveling was because he hadn’t been touched intimately by a woman in years, and nothing more.

* * *

As more weeks sped by, Draco didn’t have as much to do as Granger took all the data she’d collected from him and began her own analysis. Which left Draco with time to poke around her room and wonder about all the curious instruments contained within the large space. He recognized many of the ornate bits and bobs as artifacts from Dumbledore’s office but remained ignorant to their functions. 

She had two long lab tables but spent most of her time behind her wooden desk in the corner. A large open space separated the lab tables and when Granger needed to involve Draco in an analysis she’d instruct him to stand here. She’d then either direct her collected results to one table or the other depending on her deduction, and Draco learned that one table was for data that confirmed a theory and the other was for data that rejected a theory. 

When she did not need to consult Draco or involve him in her work, she left him to his metal stool where he spent most of his days reading. He flipped through past periodicals published by the Department of Mysteries on souls and Dementors, just as desperate and curious as Granger to discover what had happened to him. 

Something clicked in his brain as he finished an article on goblin-made materials. About a piece he’d read over a year ago. 

“You wrote the paper on the longevity of the properties of Basilisk venom.”

Her head jolted up from where she sat poring over a text at her desk. 

“You’ve read my research?”

“I didn’t know it was yours at the time. When I was in Azkaban, Potter brought me periodicals and books. The Unspeakables work was always my favorite section of the Ministry research journal.”

She came around her desk eagerly and sat on the stool next to his. 

“Yes, I find I quite like the publishing standards for that section. Anonymity of authors means the research gets the recognition instead of the names. Not everyone’s cup of tea, and I do think researchers should get their proper credit, but Unspeakables know the code of silence they signed up for,” she said. 

“The paper on ghosts and the afterlife. That was you as well, wasn’t it?”

She nodded enthusiastically as she tucked an escaped curl from her low bun behind her ear. It looked impossibly soft. 

“I actually was inspired by a Defense lesson. Do you remember in Sixth Year when Professor Snape asked Harry to describe the difference between ghosts and Inferi? Snape described ghosts as imprints of a departed soul left upon the earth, but Harry said ‘ghosts are transparent’?”

“ _ A five-year-old could have told us as much _ ,” Draco drawled in his best impression of their former Potions Master. Granger laughed.

What a sound. 

Sometimes, he and Potter and Theo had shared a wry chuckle over the years, but the only other type of laughter one heard through the walls of Azkaban was rooted in madness. 

Granger had a beautiful laugh. Honest and true. It suited her. 

“No one else in my life has read my research who wasn’t on an editorial board,” she said and shot him a smile. A fond look. A look he’d very much like to inspire from her again.

“If you wanted,” she suddenly seemed apprehensive, “I can recommend other articles I’d think you’d enjoy. Not just mine of course, but others in the field, though mine are perhaps the most recent research in the area of soul magic.”

“Sure, Granger.” With that simple acquiescence, he succeeded in wiping the open vulnerability from her expression. 

Still, he had to needle her. Just a bit.

“Plus I can query every single one of your citation choices, seeing as you’re stuck here with me and must answer all my burning questions in the name of research.”

“Prat.”

* * *

Two months into this new phase of Draco’s life and Granger shared some of her findings. 

“You are what I am officially calling an ‘unconsumed soul.’ There’s no record of this happening. Ever.”

“So I can’t die?”

“No, you are not immortal. Remember that the Dementor’s Kiss does not kill you. Your body can remain alive without a soul. You’d be a sort of… husk. I’ve interviewed Kiss victims and let me tell you, nothing disturbed me more than trying to converse with a soulless person.”

“And because the Dementor couldn’t take it… I still have mine?”

She nodded, seeming happy to move back to a less morbid topic. 

“You definitely have a soul. You have your memories and independent thoughts and emotions. But it’s protected.” She stared at the center of his chest, as if trying to see through him and into his innermost self for an obvious answer. Granger raised her hand and it hovered in the air between them, before she seemed to think better of touching him and let it fall away. 

“We just need to figure out how and why.”

_ We _ .

* * *

Draco had not slept well. Some of his more gruesome nightmares had reigned supreme, which meant he’d almost been late to meet the Auror at the Floo. 

He’d skipped breakfast and his rumbling stomach conducted an open revolt as he folded his exhausted body onto the stool. 

“Good morning,” Granger greeted him brightly from her desk. She took a generous sip of something from her portable cup and then a dainty bite from a blueberry scone.

Merlin, he was fucking starving. 

A moment later, Granger dropped her mouthwatering treat and shot out of her chair. 

“I think I know which text I need! I’ll be right back, I just need to pop upstairs to the Ministry library.”

She bustled out of the lab leaving Draco alone with the biggest temptation of his life. 

Before he could stop himself or even think about all the ways Granger would succeed where the Dementors had failed, Draco strode over to the desk and ate the rest of the scone in two bites. 

Fucking divine. 

“Here, if you want to help, I’ve got a text here on incantations used in—”

She dropped the book next to him but stopped short of her desk. Draco prepared for the verbal and possibly physical onslaught. 

“Did you—did you actually steal my breakfast?”

Draco shrugged, seeing no way to convincingly lie his way out of this. “You left it unattended and I hadn’t really slept so I missed breakfast. It was delicious, by the way.”

She sputtered in a lovely combination of disbelief and indignation. He’d forgotten how fun it used to be to rile her up. 

“That was my scone you sneaking prat!” 

She stalked over to her desk and lifted her cup to test the weight. “Did you help yourself to my tea too?”

“What is it?”

“Masala chai.”

“No thank you, I’m partial to coffee, black.”

“Oh? Should I start bringing you that as well?”

“If it’s no trouble.”

He smirked and she huffed and rolled her eyes. 

The next morning, Draco found a steaming cup of black coffee and a little paper bag containing one blueberry scone placed at his usual spot. 

She grinned smugly as his eyes lit up and he helped himself to her kindness.

“It’s Muggle made, you know,” she called over to him. 

“Granger I don’t care who makes it, this is delicious.”

“You know the proper response would be to say, ‘Thank you Hermione.’”

“Thank you… Hermione.”

A beat of silence. 

“You’re welcome Draco,” came her soft reply. 

Something uncomfortable twisted in his gut. A realization that he very much enjoyed having her focused on him, and not because she needed to puzzle out the grand, magical problem of him still having a soul.

He always did excel at irritating her.

“I, um, didn’t much appreciate your argument against unicorn blood in potions.”

“Excuse me?”

Draco traced his pointer finger around the rim of his coffee cup.

“I thought it particularly narrow-minded. Especially from an educated witch such as yourself.”

“Narrow-minded? Oh you—”

She threw down her quill and stalked over to him. 

“Go on then,” she jabbed a finger at the article on the table. “Make your case, Malfoy.”

“You’ve made a moral argument the crux of your protest, rather than a scientific one.”

“The risks of slaying a unicorn, not to mention the monstrosity of the act itself—”

“Ah ah,” he wagged a finger in her face. “Facts only, if you please, Miss Granger.”

“It is a _ fact  _ that slaying an animal like a unicorn is considered an act against nature.”

“But have you considered that the potioneer may have come by the blood by honest means? Foragers that find carcasses in the forest are allowed to put the hair, horn, and coat to good use.”

“The blood still should not be used for any potion meant to be imbibed.”

“Of course not, and any potion-maker worth their salt will have done not only the proper curse-breaking protocol, but will have extracted out the magical components, leaving only the specific bits necessary for the brew. You can’t deny how it’s terribly useful in modern and rare Healing potions. We’ve been able to eradicate most blood curses because of it.”

“Yes, that was the exact argument I used in the third section! If you cared to actually read it, you’ll find it an incredibly well-balanced piece that recognizes the medicinal benefits but ultimately concludes it’s too dangerous a practice and the risks to the soul too great a cost. Which is why if you read through the rest of the paper you’ll see that I proposed regulatory measures to—”

“—to limit the collection and distribution to only those with both a Potions Mastery and special dispensation from the Ministry.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “You did read it,” she said blankly then glared at him. “And you actually agree with me, don’t you? You just wanted to wind me up.”

He smirked.

“We’ve got to keep you sharp, don’t we Granger? Otherwise how else can I trust you to solve the curious case of my ‘unconsumed soul?’”

“Oh you insufferable git,” she huffed and stomped back to her desk. She muttered angrily under her breath for a few minutes before slamming her quill down.

“Since you think you’re so clever and apparently thrive on debating my published works, I fully expect you to arrive tomorrow morning with a better crafted argument not done in jest. Maybe if you keep asking the right questions we’ll find something to pursue with the new research we’re meant to be conducting.”

Draco chuckled.

“That was a rather bad-tempered way of admitting you enjoyed our intellectual repartee and would welcome another round. No need to hide behind the ‘work’ excuse. Surely we could set aside some time in the mornings for academic discussion?”

Her lips twitched. 

“Fine.”

She kept her word.

The next morning and every morning thereafter over coffee, masala chai, and blueberry scones, Granger attempted a verbal thrashing of Draco that he would smugly parry more frequently than she’d probably care to admit.

Some days he took ridiculous stances just to hear her laugh. 

Some days he looked like absolute shite after a horrifying night’s sleep and she would instead ask if we wanted to talk about it. He’d always brush her off, but saw the look in her eyes all the same:  _ I know what it’s like. I know it’s not fair, none of it was fair, not for so many of us. _

Some days he got carried away and rhapsodized so passionately on a topic, he’d even start gesticulating with his hands to make a point. 

Some days she rested her chin in her hand and listened so attentively to him speak he felt like what he said actually mattered. Like he mattered. 

Some days they broke off sentences early or lost their place in the spoken conversation as a stare caught. Caught and then lasted too long. Dragged on for more time than was socially appropriate. 

Some days Draco quite forgot just why he’d want to be anywhere else.

* * *

Draco’s eyes grew tired as he read through yet another ancient text on souls and physical tethering to a body. 

Bored, he looked across the way and his gaze landed on Granger. Three months in and he hadn’t learned much about himself he didn’t already know, but he’d certainly learned a lot about one particular witch. 

How she liked her tea, how she looked when frustrated by another dead end, how she concentrated on Draco when performing yet another magical diagnostic, how she had a passion for Ancient Runes work, how she liked to gnaw on the ends of her quills, how her hair liked to come undone over the course of the work day…

How gorgeous she looked when she teetered on the brink of a discovery. She suddenly looked up at him and his breath caught. She had that look now.

“I—” she started and stopped. Granger shot out of her chair and approached him, eyes gleaming with the anticipation of an idea. 

“Stand up, please, I think I—well I’d have to run some tests but I… I mean you might… but it could be nothing… such an archaic concept… I thought it would have been outlawed… completely unbelievable… but we’ve got to check…”

Draco obeyed her and stood stock-still in the middle of the room while she circled him and continued muttering under her breath. 

Accustomed to her pointing her wand at him and running through incantations, he let her carry on with the work. She came to a stop in front of him and decided to up-end his entire world.

“I think you might be soul-bonded.”

_ Soul-bonded. _

“I’m definitely not,” he countered with a laugh. 

She looked offended that this news hadn’t bowled him right over.

“Do you find this funny? We might have solved it!”

“You mean to tell me that you don’t find the concept of someone willingly binding their soul to someone like me absolutely nonsensical?”

“I’m really not seeing the humor here.”

“Granger, be serious.”

“I’m not the one laughing.”

“No one would want that with me.”

“Don’t say that.”

Gods, she really needed to stop doing that; stop meeting his self-deprecation with a confidence-boost encased within a scold. 

It exhilarated and terrified him in equal measure. 

“Why not? It’s the truth. Think for just a moment about the person I am. No one would want that with me,” he said bitterly. “I’m a former Death Eater, freed inmate, alive only by the grace of some aberration of nature, now a mandated shut-in at his stupidly opulent manor surrounded by a disturbing type of wealth and grandeur that’s only brought him misguided arrogance. What happens if we confirm this, eh? I go on some quest to find my other half or some other overly sentimental nonsense and what then? ‘ _ Oh hello, sorry you’re apparently shackled to a monster, maybe we’ll come back again in some other life where I’m not a horrible person _ ?’”

She frowned and opened her mouth to argue but Draco shook his head and fetched one of the leather-bound tomes from his reading pile, eager to dismiss this unearned comfort from her. 

“All this is besides the point, anyway. I think I’d know if I participated in the ceremony, Granger. Intent matters in soul-bonds, you can’t just go around casting the spell on people and bonding them arbitrarily. That type of bond requires two willing people, a ceremony with specific rituals, all sorts of incantations. See this bit here?”

He held the text towards her and tapped one long finger on a line spoken during the ceremony. There was precious little as far as details of the rest of the vows, and Draco suspected they’d need to search for even older texts. 

“‘This promise given freely,’” he recited. “You have to knowingly accept the other person’s magical core, it’s very complicated magic. You get a choice, and there’s no chance anyone would have chosen me.” 

She pursed her lips. “Is that really how you see yourself?”

His laugh this time was harsh. “It’s the reality of my pitiful life Granger, why sugarcoat it?”

“I think you have much more to offer,” she stated quietly. 

“Oh? Have a lot to offer do I?” he snapped back.

“Yes! You’re being ridiculous! It wouldn’t be in this life anyway, it would have been—”

She jumped up and started pacing and muttering under her breath again. “But if you haven’t… if you’ve never… then that means…” 

Draco waited her out, all too aware she preferred to work through problems this way. 

“I have one more theory,” she stated. “We have to rule out Obliviation.” 

Draco remained still and let her magic wash over him. It struck him then how oddly comfortable he always felt in the presence of her magic. She perpetually wielded the strength of her powers with the utmost care, leaving Draco with the strange sensation of warmth instead of an abrasive intrusion. 

“No Obliviation,” she concluded. 

Her wand arm fell limply to her side as she approached him slowly. She stood practically toe-to-toe with him, far too close for a professional setting, and raked her gaze over his face before trapping him in this shared moment with prolonged eye contact. The kind he both craved and feared.

“You’re soul-bonded,” she breathed, amazed.

_ Soul-bonded. _

Draco finally let the truth sink in and released a stuttering exhale. Someone, somewhere in this horrible universe, had loved him enough to willingly bind their souls together. 

_ This promise given freely.  _

Granger regarded him in astounded wonder; a fascinating being that had stolen her breath, that had captured her imagination and  _ fucking Salazar _ how Draco wished the cause for this euphoric moment of reverence and attention from her occurred for any other reason than the actual truth. The harsh truth of Draco’s only reason to exist in her orbit. His heart released a sudden, desperate wish to be anything other than a case study in her eyes.

Her amazement gave way to something altogether strange. If he didn’t know any better, Draco would define the sudden melancholic turn in Granger’s features as disappointed. A look of someone who might have lost something they weren’t sure they ever had at all.

_ What are you thinking in that gorgeous brain of yours? Will you regret it when our time together comes to an end? Would you prefer to keep me instead? I think I’d let you.  _

Granger’s intellect and insatiable thirst for knowledge broke the spell. She backed away and paced again.

“Do you know what kind of discovery this is? Do you know what kind of research breakthrough we just made? If you never participated in a ceremony here, and it hasn’t been removed from your memory, then this is proof it happened in another life! You are living proof that soul-bonding works! That there are other timelines, other lives, a continued existence for us.” 

She beamed back at him and fuck if his heart didn’t burst at the sight; an apocalyptic explosion of blood, tissue, and muscle, as something in his chest shattered.

“I’m going to run some tests on your blood again,” she announced and retreated to one of the lab tables to run her experiments. 

Draco staggered to his seat and stared dumbfounded at her parchment, the neat notes blurring before his eyes, unable to make sense to his mind. 

After possibly thirty minutes or three hours—Draco no longer had awareness of the mechanics and laws of time—Granger presented her findings.

“Magic is in your blood, just like every other witch and wizard. But it’s more than that. Using a diagnostic of my own making, I tested for the common runes used in the soul-bonding rituals.” 

“I’m sorry, did you say you invented a spell for runes work?”

Gods, she made being brilliant sound like breathing. 

She ignored his question and ploughed on with her discovery. “Yours returned four symbols: love, protection, faith, and strength.”

He couldn’t stop the natural question that flashed across his brain from tumbling desperately out of his mouth. 

“How would I know who I bonded with? How would I even find them?” 

_ Do I even want to find them?  _

_ Will they make me feel more than what I already feel in this stale examination space?  _

_ Would I even survive such an onslaught? _

_ If you line up a bunch of candidates in front of me, will I experience relief?  _

_ Or instead, the crushing disappointment that none of them are you? _

Granger shrugged. A curious reaction from her. He’d never known her to be reluctant in the face of investigative efforts. 

“I’m not sure. Perhaps if we can find the rest of the vow translation that would give us a hint. We also need to determine why this type of bond protects you from the Dementor.” 

She shot him a sweet, wistful smile, causing another chain reaction of obliteration inside his ribcage. 

“I think it’s quite romantic to make that choice with another person. You put faith in your magic to recognize your counterpart, never knowing if it actually works. Someone really...” 

She cut herself off and whirled away from him. Was there a hitch in her breath? A trembling weakness in her voice when she finished? “Someone must have really loved you. And you, them, I suppose.”

She bent her head over her desk and polished off her notes when Draco was struck with a sudden idea. 

“So could we use my wand somehow? If it’s tied to my magic?”

Her head shot up. “That’s brilliant!”

The pride in her eyes directed his way upped Granger’s kill count of Draco’s heart for the day to three. 

* * *

The next morning, Draco found a familiar object waiting beside his coffee and scone. 

He picked up the Hawthorn wand and rolled it in his fingers. He felt his magic burst to life within him, finally reunited with the conduit that could channel his power. 

He saw Granger observing him in this quiet, tentative reunion. 

“I can… use it?”

“Only in here. The wand stays with me when you leave. But yes Malfoy, you can use it. Try not to curse me, please.”

“Did you just tease me Granger?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

_ Yes, like finding out you’re bloody soul-bonded while simultaneously finding out you’re besotted with the woman studying you.  _

“You can play with your wand later, I mean—”

He couldn’t help the smirk as she tried in vain to recover from her unintended double entendre.

“You can reacquaint yourself with it later. I need your help with the vows today. I’ve not had much luck with the books in the Ministry library,” she said, gesturing to her pile of rejected tomes. “It’s not looking promising for that avenue.”

Draco put down his wand, resisting the pull to practice spellwork once more.

“About that… I think my family’s library might be a better source for you. Some of the books and scrolls are more than a thousand years old. Soul-bonding ceremonies were even rare among Pureblood lines and sort of taboo, so you’d probably only find certain texts in personal libraries as opposed to the Ministry.”

She looked like Draco had just offered her the entire world on a platter. Part of him wanted to, if she’d let him.

“Since you can’t leave your manor, may I come over after work?”

Could Draco have simply volunteered to bring the books from his home? Of course, but now that she’d laid out the option of being in her captivating presence outside of the sterile setting of the Department of Mysteries, he’d not refuse this gift.

“Of course, Granger.”

* * *

Watching Granger internally lose her cool at his family’s vast collection of books was certainly a sight to behold. He allowed her a few minutes of joyful browsing before he directed her to the correct section for soul magic. He then allowed himself a few minutes of fantasizing about taking her against the shelves.

_ Fuck.  _

Draco waited at one of the study tables for Granger to complete her research mission and successfully calmed his body when she dragged out the chair right next to him and sat down. She placed a frail and delicate scroll on the table and unfurled it carefully. 

“I found the vows spoken by the couple. Once we finish with this, I’ll dig up the incantations performed by the bonder. It’ll be easier if we share and split the translation work. I’ll start at the top and you begin at this line.”

Eager as ever, the little swot, and too endearing by half.

Draco’s Latin was a bit rusty, and translation was slow work when his thoughts were consumed by the proximity of Granger and her unidentifiable floral scent.

“Have you finished the rest?”

Draco blinked and looked down at his parchment. He’d done one fucking line. 

He’d been too distracted by the woman sitting almost flush against his side. Of noting the precise location of her hand where it rested on the table’s surface, mere inches from his own.

He slid his contribution towards her. “I’ve got the last line for you.”

She grinned widely as she read it to herself. “Oh, that’s breathtaking.”

_ You’re breathtaking.  _

_ You’re brilliant, beautiful, fucking transcendant, and I’d romance the hell out of you if I were any other man. And gods Granger, but if you don’t deserve the fucking world. You deserve more than I could ever give to you. _

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Sod the Dementors, this woman would be the ultimate undoing of Draco. 

Granger pulled the scroll closer and finished the translation. 

“Okay, I’ve got it all! These would be the vows you took with your partner.”

_ No.  _

_ No, Granger, please. Please don’t. Please don’t look right fucking through me with those big, brown eyes, because I promise you, what’s left of my heart can’t take it. _

She turned to face him; cheeks flushed with excitement as she read the rites aloud.

“’I pledge you—my intended—my love, fidelity, and all my worldly goods.

I vow to honor our union in both word and deed. 

As my magic calls to yours, so shall my heart, so shall my soul.

I stand before you as your equal and ask that you accept my magic as a sign of my devotion to you and my faith in you.

I humbly recognize the balance that must exist in the universe.

For there is no light without darkness, no healing without pain, no joy without grief.

It is my solemn vow that I will bear all of this with you, and should you ever need, I will bear it for you. 

I bind my soul to yours, this promise given freely, for this life and all the lives to come.’” 

Granger’s glowing, ecstatic eyes met his and continued his obliteration. He’d had to sit here and watch and hear her recite these sacred statements of unending devotion and pretend it didn’t cleave him in two.

She then dealt the final blow. 

“Isn’t that beautiful?”

He didn’t hesitate this time.

“You’re beautiful.”

Draco heard her breath hitch, and watched her lips part to let out a soft gasp. He closed the short distance and cut off any further gorgeous little noises she might want to make. 

Despite the swooping in his mid-section, kissing Granger felt far less like falling and much more like a grounding.

An anchor. A tether. 

Her soft, supple lips parted under his light pressure and she angled her head to deepen the kiss. Draco felt delicate fingers play with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and let his hands roam into her curls in return. 

Their tentative dance of mouths eventually progressed to tongues and gentle nips. Draco sat back in his chair and pulled a very willing Granger into his lap. She effortlessly and eagerly straddled his hips, pressing her body fully against his, inciting mutual groans of appreciation. 

Granger seemed keen to move things along, and pressed open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and then down to his neck. Draco’s hips bucked up on instinct and she immediately matched his grinding rhythm. His head lolled forward as she sucked at his skin.

“Fuck,” he mumbled into her shoulder, his grip tightening on her waist. “Want you so bad.”

“I want you, too,” she murmured against his ear. “Yes—Draco I—”

She ripped her mouth away suddenly and stared at him, wide-eyed and panting.

Her entire body trembled and Draco ran soothing hands down her sides.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered. 

She scrambled off him and almost ran towards the fireplace. 

“I—I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Granger, wait, please—”

“We shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“Hermione, please.”

“No, Draco, I can’t—I can’t do this. Oh my gods, this violates all sorts of protocols, I’m supposed to be studying you, not foolishly hoping we could ever—”

She cut herself off sharply, looking terrified of what she’d almost admitted.

“That’s a bullshit excuse,” challenged Draco. “I couldn’t care less about study protocol, I know who I want and—”

“We can’t,” she interrupted. “You’re soul-bonded to someone else and I can’t—I can’t feel this way about you.” 

She took a ragged inhale and turned away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t need the lingering floral scent of her hair mixing with the comforting library aroma to confirm the truth, reassuring though it may have been. 

He already knew.

* * *

As Draco predicted, when he arrived in her lab the following morning, Granger tried to play the aloof card. 

“Malfoy,” she greeted him with a detached air. 

“Do you really think I’m going to let this go?”

Her mask slipped momentarily and he saw the lethal combination of fear and hurt in her eyes. She averted her gaze and collected herself, continuing on as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Now that you have your wand back, we can—" 

“Granger—”

“Our next best step is to study the properties of your wand—"

“Granger—”

“And then we’ll cross reference with compatible properties in other wands. We’ll start with Ollivander’s records—”

“Granger—”

“But of course, we can move to other wandmakers if we need to expand our search, but—" 

“Hermione.”

She stopped talking and stared at him, her chest heaving as she gulped in shallow breaths.

Draco approached her slowly, daring her to play the coward, daring her to run away from him, from this. When her bravery held fast, he took her hand and placed it on his chest, right over his heart. 

“I think we both know that any further research would be a waste of your time and mine.”

“Draco, don’t, I—”

“Do you trust your own magic?”

Her throat bobbed once but she nodded. 

She replaced her touch with the tip of her wand. Draco mirrored her, holding his wand to the center of her chest.

Neither of them moved. Just ahead, just within reach, they could have their answer; they could put a name to this connection at last. It would require quite the leap, from both of them.

They’d reached the cliff’s edge and would have to jump together.

“Channel your magic,” Draco finally whispered. Speaking any louder felt like blasphemy. 

He felt the familiar stirring of his own abilities originate from within and directed it towards Granger. In return, he sensed another magical presence that while definitely not his own, also felt familiar. 

“What do you feel?” he asked. 

“Serenity. Contentment.” She swallowed. “And you?”

“Whole. Home.”

Their truths spoken aloud reverberated around the otherwise silent room. 

Draco saw the fear in her eyes morph into a fierce determination as they both lowered their arms. He set his wand on the table and took a cautious step back.

Granger whirled around and summoned a piece of parchment. She signed the release waiver declaring his time as a test subject over, then put her wand on the table with purpose, right beside his.

“I hereby release you from your obligation to the Department of Mysteries,” she stated shakily. 

“What does this mean?”

“It means your required time here is done. You still have to finish the house arrest and the other parts of your sentence but—”

“Not what I was asking Granger.”

“It means a choice. For both of us.”

Gods what a glorious way to phrase it.

“And what are you choosing?”

His words may have formed a question but in reality, contained an offering: of everything that didn’t already belong to her, in whatever capacity she’d have him.

“I… I don’t know what happened before with us or… other versions of us, I suppose. All I know is what I feel now.”

“Say it. Please.”

“Complete. That’s how I felt—that’s how I feel—with you.”

Draco’s mouth curled into a smile. One that might very well be a permanent fixture on his face going forward.

“The Dementor couldn’t take my soul because you took hold of it first. And apparently, you’ve trusted me with yours too.” His voice trembled in awe; his whole being rendered undone by the unmitigated joy coursing through him.

Tears of the happy variety trailed down Granger’s cheeks. She laughed and swiped them away. “I can’t believe we went through with it. In some other existence we decided one lifetime together simply wasn’t enough.”

Draco pulled her to him, intent on not wasting another second without her in this lifetime.

“Seems like you’re stuck with me,” he said with a smirk.

She circled her arms around his neck. “Regretting it yet?”

“Just wondering what took you so long to find me.” He cut off what surely would have been a furious rebuttal to his cheeky statement by capturing her lips. 

“Prat,” she grumbled against his mouth, when they resurfaced for air. She pulled back with a curious frown. “I do wonder though… how many times do you think we’ve done this already? How many times have we found each other?”

Draco traced his fingertips down either side of her face, then cupped her jaw. 

“Granger if it feels this good to find you,” he engaged her in another lingering kiss. “I hope there are a hundred billion lifetimes with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and find me on tumblr: [heyjude19-writing](https://heyjude19-writing.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Eternal gratitude to my alphabet friend mrsbutlertron.


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